What the Hell is That?
by siberat
Summary: Drift is in medbay, and starts seeing things... on Ratchets aft.


The brightly lit room soon came into focus as the mech slowly awoken. He just lay there staring at the ceiling, making shapes out of the textured surface. His head ached dully as he finally figured out where he was: medbay.

Glancing around, Drift saw other bots with tubes sticking out of them laying on berths. Must have been one hell of a fight, the mech pondered as he attempted to sit up. A sharp pain stopped his attempt. Looking down, a long hose was stuck right to the center of his abdomen. The white mech let out a sigh, defeated to the fact he was stuck to his berth. Well, if he didn't want to get reprimanded by the grumpy medic, that was.

A ruckus was heard to his left, and glancing to see it's cause, Drift saw a patient squirming as Ratchet, the said grumpy mech, was attempting to to fix an open injury. A number of curses flew from the medic's mouth and the patient resumed staying still- was probably the best cooperation the medic can hope for.

Turning his head to face the ceiling once more, his vision squinted as pain crept back up. His back ached from laying down too long, and his head started to pound once again. He let out a small groan voicing his discomfort. Drift reset his optics, and once his vision returned, he saw a head looking over him.

"Gah" Drift blurted as he jumped.

"Sorry," First aid stated. "Didn't mean to startle ya." He began fidgeting with the hoses in his arm until finding a specific one, and began to inject something inside him.

"What is that?" Drift asked, his voice hoarse.

"Just something for your pain," The assistant replied.

"No..." Drift replied. " I don't want it." He attempted to move his arm away, but First Aid simply grabbed it my the wrist.

"It's ok, Drift." The medic finished up the dose. "You need it, have been on it for the few days you have been here."

Every medic knew Drift didn't like any kind of narcotics. Having going through detox before with Syk, the poor mech feared being addicted to anything that dulled his pain. However, that did not exempt him from receiving it when in the med bay. There where plenty of times medics- be it First Aid or Ratchet- had to fight with him to give him narcotics. In the end, the medics always won.

"Now, you may feel a little fuzzy, Drift." First Aid stated as he sealed up the tubing. "It just means the medicne is kicking in, alright?"

Drift simply nodded and closed his optics. He just laid there, focusing in on his pain. Hearing the medic leave his berth side, the injured mech was left alone to his thoughts; which wasn't always a good thing. Memories of Gasket surfaced, of how his former friend would sit with him when he shot himself up with Syk. The sober mech would talk to him of his dreams of rising out of the streets, of how he planned on earing credits to get his fellow homeless mechs out of the gutters, and he planned on even saving a druggie mech from himself. Of course this was just a dream of his, and he never got a chance to save anyone.

Unknowingly to Drift, he had fallen into a light doze. He dreamed of Wing and how caring that mech was. Wing was very similar to Gasket, the main difference was Wing was able to indeed get mechs out of the slums, so to speak. Wing welcomed him into their culture, which was very much like what Gasket would describe in his wishful dreams. His vision flashed to the horrid battle against the slave traders, and he saw, once again, Wing getting killed right in front of him.

Drift startled awake in a cold sweat. He gasped for air as he looked around his surroundings. Still in med bay, but his pain was gone. Slowly, he sat up in his berth, careful to not bend or twist any of the cables hooked up to him. He glanced around the med bay, and was shocked when he saw something.

Ratchet was now working on yet another mech, but was bending over, digging in his toolbox. There was something moving, like a cyberbug or something, on his aft. Squinting his optics, Drift attempted to focus on it, but he never could completely see what it was. Trying to get a better view, Drift leaned over and tittered carefully over the side of the berth. Just what the hell was crawling over Ratchet's aft?

"Just what the slag are you looking at?"

Drift focused on the speaker, and embarrassing discovered Ratchet angrily glaring at him. "Uh... Nothing!" Drift stated, and Ratchet gave him an evil look. "I think... I think there is something crawling on your aft... Sir."

The medic gave a confused look and swept his hand over his aft to find whatever was supposed to be there. Looking at his hand, he showed Drift. "Nothing..."

Drift squinted again, and low and behold, the 'bug' he swore was crawling around was merely just a shadow. His optics where playing tricks on him.

"Stop staring at my aft." Ratchet said with a stern look on his face.

Drift simply nodded slightly, optics wide in embarrassment, and quickly laid back down. He stole a sideways glance at the Medical Officer and noticed he was still getting glared at. The white mech reached for some sheets, and pulled them up to his face, trying to hide his crimson cheeks. Well, also to try to hide himself from the medic's piercing glare. With a sigh, Drift vowed to never stare at Ratchet's aft again.


End file.
